


Light of my life, Fire in my loins

by WonderWonderBats



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, F/F, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderWonderBats/pseuds/WonderWonderBats





	Light of my life, Fire in my loins

The call had been frantic, filled with nothing but desperate little whines and pleas, and Alana promising, swearing that she would “be there soon.” Perhaps she was too devoted to her patient, because before she could end the call, she was out her front door, trench coat thrown over her pajamas in a half-assed attempt at looking professional. 

Keys in the ignition, hand on the gear, foot on the peddle, Alana wondered if her interactions with Abigail Hobbs was bordering upon inappropriate. Driving to a patient's house in the middle of the night wasn't something she ever thought she'd make a routine out of. There had never been anyone who had demanded her attention like this; like Abigail, who crashed into her life like a car accident, and expected her to pick up the pieces and salvage everything she could from the wreckage. 

Alana blinked once, twice, three times when she stopped at a red light, desperately trying to make her eyes focus. Streets were blurry, the lights hurt her head and she wondered how she would make it back home. Part of her wondered if Abigail would let her stay the rest of the night, but her moral compass tick-tocked in her ear, screaming about inappropriate patient/doctor relations, and really that was all she could think about lately. 

It was getting tedious. 

The Hobbs house was beguiling. Beneath pretty white shutters and pretty front door, there were bloodstains on hardwood that would never quite wash out all the way. And there was Abigail, alone in her bed, clinging to her pillow and wishing the only person she had in the world would just hurry. 

Between getting her coat caught in the car door, dropping her keys, and barely managing to make it up the driveway without tripping, Alana made a mockery of grace as she knocked on the front door. She rang the doorbell, jiggled the doorknob, anything to get Abigail's attention. It wasn't long before the knob turned in her hands from the inside, and there she was, face streaked with tears, eyes red and her arms wrapping around Alana's neck. 

She clung to her like a frightened child, and Alana could do nothing but hold her. She held her tight, arms around her small waist, fingertips gently massaging the small of her back. 

“Shh, it's okay, I'm here now.” 

Abigail nuzzled her nose into Alana's neck, nails digging into her shoulder blades, body shaking like a leaf. 

“I had--” deep, shaky breath, “a nightmare.” 

Abigail looked up at her, sniffling and clutching fistfuls of her shirt like it was a lifeline. 

“Please come inside with me...I need you.” 

You make me feel better

I'm getting better

All because of you. 

Alana filled in the blanks of Abigail's plea with words she'd heard before. And whether or not it was the right thing to do, she believed in them. She believed in Abigail so ardently, she felt like she was breaking commandments.

Alana smiled at her, cradled her cheek in her hand, the pad of her thumb wiping away tears. 

“Don't cry, Abigail. Let's go to your room.”

Alana kept an arm around Abigail's waist, guiding her into the house and up the stairs, trying to ignore the kitchen, where Abigail's blood had spilled at her father's hands. She wondered how often Abigail thought about it, and if every nightmare was just the memory of the knife digging into her neck. She wondered if Jack was right, if Garret Jacob Hobbs wasn't alone. If Abigail shouldered as much guilt as her father--

Abigail broke free from her embrace, and sat on the end of her bed. She patted the space beside her, biting her lip and digging her nails into the mattress. 

“Sit with me?”

Alana smiled, shrugging out of her coat and letting it drop to the floor. She tried not to focus on the image of her clothes on Abigail Hobbs' floor, and instead focused on not falling over when she crossed the length of the room to Abigail's bed. 

The bed sunk with her weight, and Abigail crossed her legs under her, leaning to the right, resting her head on Alana's shoulder. The action sent shivers down her spine, settling right at the base, white noise tingles that just wouldn't quit. 

“Thanks for coming here so late...I was worried you wouldn't answer when I called.” 

Abigail sniffled, arms wrapping Alana's waist tightly. She wondered if Abigail had hugged her mother like this, she wondered if this was just a scared little girl reaching out for some kind of paternal affection in the wake of tragedy. She tried, desperately, to feel nothing but a maternal inclination towards Abigail, but with each evocative touch of her fingers on Alana's hips, convincing herself of anything platonic was becoming increasingly difficult. 

“You know I'll always come when you call,” because i'm all that you have, she thought, grasping at ways to rationalize every action caused by Abigail Hobbs. 

“Promise?” 

Abigail was looking into her eyes now, face mere inches from hers. It was the zenith of inappropriate conduct, and Alan knew she needed to back away, knew she needed to ease away, to put a suitable distance between them before she promised anything, but she couldn't. She remained still, thinking of every time she'd driven to Abigail's house in the middle of the night, sleep gnawing at her eyelids, staggering into the Hobb's house and falling onto the living room couch. They'd touched—interlocked fingers, chaste embraces, but never before had they been so close. 

Abigail ran her tongue along her bottom lip, eyes locked on Alana's mouth, eyes bright with bad intentions—like a spider ensnaring a fly in its web and Alana wondered if she'd find herself wrapped up tight in Abigail Hobbs' web. 

“I promise.” 

Abigail smiled, still lingering too close. 

“Would you do anything for me, Dr. Bloom?” 

Alana eased back, just an inch, laughing nervously, struggling to get out the words “within reason,” but they wouldn't come. She only continued to laugh, shaking her head in a non-committal gesture of I wish I knew. 

“I realize I'm the only one you've got, Abigail, but a doctor has to impose some limits...” 

Abigail pouted, closing the distance between them again, 

“I'm sure you've broken quite a few of those...limits already. And I've been on a steady road to recovery ever since.” 

Alana closed her eyes, tried to think, but Abigail was daring, indecent, and slid into Alana's lap. Her body felt lithe and warm against her, and she couldn’t remember the last time she'd felt tension build up in the pit of her stomach before. The kind of tension that manifested itself as warmth that spread between her legs. 

“Abigail, what are you doing--”

Abigail pressed her fingers to Alana's lips, shushing her gently, the stereotypical picture of teenage seduction. Lips pressed against her ear, and Abigail's voice was sweet as honey, and tainted with sin--

“I want you to touch me...I know you want to.” 

Alana's hands trembled, lingering on Abigail's hips, fingers flexing and twisting and begging to dig into her skin. 

“Abigail we can't do this...”

Finally, Alana's fingers gave in, and god, she wondered why Abigail had to wear nothing but underwear to bed. Her skin was white hot, flushed with heat and Alana couldn't help herself as she ran her palms up and down her sides. 

Abigail laughed, letting her head fall back as Alana skimmed her hands across her back, around to her stomach, lower, lower until she finally jerked her hands away as if she'd been burned--

“You just said we couldn't do this...”

“We can't—”

Abigail smirked, the facade of innocence cracking like a mirror. Alana was never one to be intimidated. She'd had her fair share of lovers, none of which had made her feel as terrified, and aroused as Abigail Hobbs. 

“We can.” 

Abigail rolled of her, laying flat on her back, staring up at Alana expectantly. The blue t-shirt she wore was hiked up, midriff exposed, and her fingers were working on pulling the shirt up even higher. Her skin was temptation personified, and Alana was briefly reminded of the words of the scandalized Humbert Humbert; “light of my life, fire of my loins,” and her hands moved to Abigail's hips of their own possessed volition, desire coursing through her veins at full-speed. Abigail moaned, a sound she knew she shouldn't have drawn from her patient, but fuck how many times had she found herself drifting off to sleep, mind (and hands) wondering, Abigail on her mind. It was shameful. She refused to admit it, but with Abigail beneath her, legs spread and wrapped around her waist, she couldn't keep denying it. 

“You want me so bad,”

Abigail gasped, and her words cut Alana's morality into pieces. She did want her, needed her, even. She needed the lips that tasted like drug store lipgloss, needed the skin that felt warm and pliant beneath her fingertips, needed her hand to delve beneath damp panties, to press against wet folds. 

“Own me.” 

Abigail's voice was nothing but a gasp, her nails digging and clawing at Alana's back and god she hoped she broke skin. Own her? The thought made Alana aggressive, crazed with lust and in an instant she never thought would occur, one hand snaked around Abigail's neck, squeezing and forcing the back of her head into the mattress while she twisted her wrist and thrust her fingers. She wondered if Abigail had ever been touched before, but the unmistakable tightness between her legs screamed no. 

“I wanna cum for you, Dr. Bloom.” 

Such a dirty mouth on such an innocent looking girl. 

Alana let her mouth replace her hand, and her teeth sank into the skin. She bit—sucked, pounding her cunt with her fingers, fucking her like she owned her, because maybe...just maybe, she did. 

“Alana!”

Her name tore itself from Abigail's throat, bouncing against the bedroom walls, sticking in her head, and Alana knew she wouldn't be able to leave. She knew she would be stuck in Abigail's web until she was eaten alive. 

But watching her back arch, lips part, and feeling the skin of her back tear and feeling blood drip...she couldn't bring herself to regret a thing.

“Would you do anything for me, Dr. Bloom...?”

Alana spoke with her mouth hovering above the bruise blossoming on Abigail's neck,

“Anything.”


End file.
